The Lullaby
by the lowkey author
Summary: Tino sings Peter a lullaby to comfort him after night frights due to the on going war. One-shot songfic, sufin if you squint.
This was inspireded by an hetalia amv on youtube (look it up at: MrBimzan APH sweden vaggvisan-Allan Edwall) with the song Vaggvisan (The Lullaby), by Allan Edwall.

(I do not own Hetalia) Please enjoy!

* * *

It was a night as usual, but usual in this case didn't mean calm and eventless. No, usual meant thundering canons, pattering of firing nutmegs and clinging of swords and halberds. Cries of agony and fighting spirit could be heard from the bloody fields in the distance, and cries of pain and fear could be heard from the temporary hospital wing in the courtyard. It was war, and it didn't leave any one unaffected.

Wandering the cold stone corridors at this elongated hour was a emaciated figure. Scrawny feet making pace across worn carpets and bony fingers feeling their way along dusty tapestries. It wasn't the first time Tino made this journey in the dark. Every other night he woke from terrified screams, forcing his soft soul out of bed and on its way towards them. The other servants in his dormitory didn't seem to wake from the cries; maybe the were to use to the clamour of war, or maybe they didn't have the strength to care for someone who was hurting, just as bad as they were hurting. Tino could understand. He could understand the others' longing for a night in oblivious peace. God knows he longed for it too.

He knew the path by heart, but felt safer sticking to the walls. The rumbling from outside made him feel exposed, and hiding in the shadows of the walls made Tino feel brave enough to keep going. It felt robust, and safe and like home. This was his home. He had been in service for as long as he could remember, wandering these corridors all day long with baskets of laundry, unpolished and newly polished cutlery, chopped wood for the fireplaces and fresh water for the washing tables. There wasn't a room or corner, not even a hidden passage, he didn't know about. And as he turned around the next corner, hand already stretched out for the doorknob, his eyes fell on the door to the nursery.

Quiet sobs could be heard as he entered, only the moonlight illuminating the scenery of a empty bed.

"Peter", Tino asked in a hushed voice. "Is it alright if I come in?" Another sob was heard, and Tino took it as a assent and closed the heavy door behind him. It was a large room, with an enormous bed in the centre and velvet curtains framing coloured window glass. Stepping silently over the thick carpet Tino spotted the little boy, curled in to a ball, by the bedside table. His eyes were wide with dismay, and his blushed cheeks wet with tears. Tino crouched down infront of him, violet eyes meeting blue.

"Hello there young lord", he said, hands resting on his skeleton like knees. "Whatever are you doing down here?" Peter snuffled and shook his head. New tears flooded his eyes and he buried his face in his stuffed dog.

"Go away!" he wipered. "I won't let you see me cry!" Tino gave a slight smile at the younger boy's pride and moved a little closer.

"There is nothing wrong with crying", he wheedled and placed a hand on the boy's soft hair.

"Is too!" he buried his face deeper in the dog. "My brother would never cry. He isn's scared of anything!" Peter was trembling and Tino moved his hands to his shoulders, trying to comfort him.

"Your brother have to be brave for his men. And even though he may not cry, I do not believe that there isn't anything that doesn't scare him." Peter's older brother, Arthur, was the heir of the family name, the castle and the lands that they were fighting for. Because of that, even though he wasn't much older than Tino, he had been on the fields of battle since the war began.

"He is a jerk", looking up from his dog with thick eyebrows frowned. "Leaving me here all by myself."

"You know he didn't want to, he only did what was expected of him." Tino said softly and rubbed the child's thin shoulders gently.

"He is still a jerk", Peter started to tear up again. "What if he doesn't come back?"

"He will..."

"What if he doesn't! What if he loses? What if he dies? What if the Bonnefoy army triumphs and comes here. Our moat won't hold them." Tino's heart broke at the hermetic helplessness in his voice. "They will claim the castle", he continued. "They will burn everything and will kill everyone. The will kill me and Raivis and Wy and..." he was cut short be the overwhelming blast of canon fire. Instinctively Tino protected his ears, which left him unable to brace himself as a small form bumped into him (quite violently) and made him fall backwards.

Small hands were grabbing the fabric of Tino's nightgown. He was laying flat on his back with the air squeezed out of his chest by adrenaline strengthened arms. A trembling body pressed against his own. Sitting up on his elbows, Tino looked down on the blond head full of sprawling hair.

"Jerk Arthur", mumbled a small voice and Tino put his arms around Peter. The boy was to young for this. He was tired and lonely and afraid, he missed his big brother and the luxury to feel safe.

"Nothing is going to happen to you little one", he breathed into the soft tufts, as an ancient melody came to mind. Standing with the child cradled in his arms, Tino leaned his foreheads against Peter's and did his best to meet those broken blue eyes with a smile.

"You know why?" Peter shook his head.

"Because", he whispered. "We are protected." He sat on the bed and rocked gently, back and forth.

"Have always been, will always be." Peter wrapped his arms around Tino's neck and nuzzled his head underneath his chin. Crooning softly the older permitted himself to fall back on the messed up covers, trying to ignore the firing and clinging of weaponry, and holding Peter close in his skinny arms.

 _Sleep my little sweetheart,_

The words escaped his lips in a feeble tune.

 _calmly in your bed._

Tino wasn't much of a singer.

 _Not to feel the worry,_

But he kept going.

 _not to feel the dread._

He could feel how Peter took a trembling breath against his throat.

 _Because in the dark night,_

It felt more like he told a story than sang a song.

 _were fear and dread belong._

But he just closed his eyes to the dying reality and continued.

 _Within bewildered forests,_

A deep breath

 _a guardian stands strong._

Behind closed eyelids Tino could picture him.

 _He has a cutting glare,_

A greenish-blue shade of aqua.

 _and a mighty faith._

Tall and strong.

 _And he won't let a devil,_

Unwavering.

 _enter through the gate._

Watching from the shadows.

 _If you him would bother,_

Tino listened the slaughter aloofingly.

 _the guardian sets pace._

But it grew more and more languid to him.

 _To defend his honour,_

So he closed his ears to it.

 _each time he shows his face._

And buried his nose in Peter's hair.

 _Sleep my little sweetheart,_

It smelled like summer.

 _calmly in your bed._

Warm cobblestone and flowers.

 _Not to feel the worry,_

The boy relaxed in his arms.

 _not to feel the dread._

His breath slowing as he drifted of to sleep.

 _Sleep my little sweetheart,_

Tino kept on singing.

 _calmly in your bed._

Repeating the words over and over.

 _Not to feel the worry,_

Waiting.

 _not to feel the dread._

Longing.

 _Don't let your thoughts go toured,_

Believing.

 _there is no need to hide._

And at last.

 _For at the nearby footboard,_

At the nearby footboard.

 _a guardian stands wide._

Were a tall figure standing.

 _He has a cutting glare,_

Greenish-blue eyes watching tiredly from behind dull spectacles.

 _and a mighty faith._

His right hand clenching a smeared staff.

 _And he won't let a devil,_

Tino freed himself from Peter's sleeping arms and stood.

 _enter through the gate._

Walking as if in a dream towards the taller one.

 _And the fool who'd try,_

Embracing his uniformed broad torso.

 _to the guardian scud._

Caressing his angular face.

 _Will breathe one last sigh,_

Meeting his empty eyes.

 _while losing all his blood._

Not caring about the enemy blood smudging his gown.

 _Nukkua pikku sydän,_

The guardian let his aching body fall limp into Tino's open arms.

 _roligt i din bädd._

Resting his drained faith for the night.

 _Inte vara ängslig,_

As the war raged on.

 _inte vara rädd..._

* * *

 _Finish:_ Nukkua pikku sydän, - Sleep my little sweetheart,

 _Swedish:_ roligt i din bädd. Inte vara änslig, inte vara rädd. - calmly in your bed. Not to be anxious, not to be afraid.

The last part is in swedish because Finland wanted Sweden to feel special, and the reason why the translation of the swedish part of the lullaby isn't the same as the all over english is that I had to alter the lyrics to make it rhyme. Sorry about that but I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

I didn't have much hope in this story to begin with, it being a songfic and all. But **thank you so much** for reading it and please review your thoughts.


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